Читать книгу Going Nuclear - Stephen Hart - Страница 5

The following week, at the Federal Building in Chicago, Vic Torkis, a balding FBI agent, scooted his chair back and got up from his desk. The time had come to meet with his new supervisor, Frank Bono. Another day, another test, he thought as he walked by his desk and glanced at his mug, still half-filled with the coffee that he had not had time to finish. Fifty years old and still being jerked around by some clown in the corner office. He paused momentarily and closed his eyes. My cases start really coming together, and someone new has to step in and fix the situation. Jesus. The door to Bono’s office was open, but Vic knocked before entering.

“Is it nine o’clock already?” Bono asked, looking up from his desk. His voice was irritatingly low and resonant. “Come in. Come in. Have a seat.” He stood and extended his hand. “Sorry we haven’t met before this, but I’m still learning the lay of the land.”

Vic nodded and walked in, noticing with a slight sense of exasperation that Bono appeared to be younger and much thinner than he was. “I guess things are a little different here than in Washington,” Vic said as they shook hands.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Have a seat. So, what do you think about the big change? Covert operations, quite a move. I think you saw the memo yesterday. I know Jim talked to you about it last month, before I got here and everything. So what do you think?” Bono folded his hands on the desk and waited for a response.

“I don’t know yet,” Vic answered with a frown, his eyes squinting, his brow wrinkled. “But I’m ready to do whatever the Bureau needs.”

“Yes, fine, well, I’m sure you are.” Bono opened the file that sat on his desk but only glanced at it, apparently already familiar with its contents. He looked back at Vic. “I think you’re going to find covert operations a little different from what you have been doing up to now. I hope you’re ready for it. From what I’ve read here, you’ve spent the last ten years or so working on white-collar crimes—embezzlement, things like that.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, that’s going to seem pretty tame compared to what you’re getting into now.”

“How’s that?” Vic asked, feeling annoyed by Bono’s dismissive attitude toward the work he had been doing.

“Let me start by saying, you are now joining a highly sensitive program, a very secret program, intended, among other things, to negate, if not eliminate, the Black Panther Party.”

“Really? I didn’t know that covert operations was that focused. I mean, going after the Black Panthers specifically.” Vic felt even more put off by the direction the conversation was taking.

“We are. I don’t know if you’re aware of it or not, but J. Edgar Hoover has identified the Black Panthers as the greatest internal threat to this country. The greatest internal threat. And these days, with all the chaos and revolutionary ideas floating around, that’s saying one hell of a lot. In the past year, a group of us have met with Mr. Hoover personally about this several times, several times, and there’s no doubt about how he sees this thing. None.”

“But do the Panthers really pose that much of a threat, I mean to the government and everything?” Or, Vic thought, is this just an opportunity for J. Edgar to rack up some easy political points? Knock down a straw man while white-collar crimes continue to flourish.

“Absolutely” Bono answered. “The Panthers don’t believe in our institutions or way of life or anything else. They’re deeply committed to the overthrow of this government.”

“But what can they do?”

“They can stir up blacks all across this country, especially the poor blacks in ghettos, and start an armed revolution leading to a real split in the government, with them in charge of the black faction, of course. That’s why they have to be stopped now before they get started, before they get a chance to do any significant damage, and before they get a chance to join forces with these campus radicals that are becoming more and more prevalent.”

“How do we do that?” Vic asked, feeling the essence of his career slipping away.

“Well, your role in all this will include keeping a close eye on any potential interaction between the Panthers and local campus radicals. Regular reports on both groups will be funneled to you, and if the situation calls for it, you will be enlisted to get involved directly.”

“What kind of reports will I be seeing?”

“Good question. Good question. We already have a number of operations in place concerning the Panthers. You’ll be getting updates on those activities regularly along with updates on student dissidence.”

“What kind of operations concerning the Panthers?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Blackstone Rangers, for example, but they’re a local black gang that’s heavily armed and into violence. We believe they could be a serious threat if they ever joined forces with the Panthers. So we’re taking steps to prevent this from happening. We’re pitting them against each other every chance we get, trying to get them to wipe each other out if we can.”

“How are you doing that?”

“We use fake letters and phone calls and newspaper stories to make each side think the other side is looking for trouble. And it seems to be working. There have been several confrontations recently and an actual shooting. We know, because we have informants in both groups.”

“What do you mean, fake letters?”

“Oh, we’ve written open letters to the Panthers in local newspapers, for example, putting down their leaders, accusing them of just being in it for themselves and not really caring about black people, things like that. And then we made it look like the letters came from the Rangers. And vice versa, of course.”

“I see.” Vic turned away and inhaled through his nose a couple of times, as if he were trying to breathe in some clean air. The activities Bono described seemed creepy to him, unsavory—tactics that he associated more with dirty politics and subversive activities, not the kind of assignment he had envisioned when he joined the Bureau. At this point, it was clear that he would have much preferred continuing with his old assignment, going after slick white-collar criminals who knew full well that what they were doing was illegal but thought they could get away with it because they were a little smarter than the law. This new assignment seemed to be about harassing misguided black kids. True, many of them had contempt for authority, but most could probably straighten out in time on their own if they weren’t saddled first with a criminal record. Vic cleared his throat. “This is different from the type of work I have been doing, very different.”

“I know it is. But as I said, a big part of your job will be to do everything you can to help undermine and discredit these militant black groups, especially the Panthers. We have to continue going after their leaders, their newspapers, their supporters, everything. I hope you have the stomach for this kind of thing.”

“I’m sure I can do what I have to do,” Vic replied.

“I hope so. I know these are different times. And some of our older agents have had trouble adapting to the new demands placed on them.”

“I’ll try to adjust to whatever the situation calls for.”

“Good. As I said, of particular concern to us these days is the potential for collaboration between the Panthers and campus radicals. For the most part, these so-called radicals are just college kids blowing off steam. They’ve had it pretty easy growing up, but now they find themselves in college, facing academic pressure, probably for the first time, with the very real possibility of military service looming in their future.”

“Academic pressure?”

“Oh, sure, sure. Most of these college students don’t graduate. They find the coursework difficult, and they don’t want to put in the effort to succeed. Most of them probably don’t even belong in college in the first place. That’s one of the fallacies we live with today.” Bono tapped his pen on the desk. “Everyone should go to college. So for the ones having trouble, life suddenly seems hard, doesn’t seem fair. Life in high school was easy, but now it’s not. They want to complain. They want to rebel. And who better to direct their frustration at than what they see as their oppressive government waging an unpopular war? So, we have to make sure these kids don’t fall in with the kind of people who could do some real damage, people like the Panthers.” An uneasy pause followed. “So tell me,” Bono said abruptly, “how did you happen to join the Bureau?”

Here we go again, Vic thought. “Well, I got my law degree in the late thirties while the Depression was still going strong. It was almost impossible to make a living as an inexperienced lawyer in those days, so I took a job in the post office to get by. Then World War II came, and I enlisted in the Army and served in the OSS. After that, a few of us were offered jobs with the CIA, but I didn’t want an overseas assignment. So they suggested that I apply for a job with the Bureau instead, which sounded great. Interesting work, security, a sense of accomplishment; all of the things I was looking for.”

“Are you happy with your choice?” Bono frowned as he asked the question.

“Sure. Working for the Bureau has done a lot for me. I really appreciate the opportunity I was given.” What is he getting at? Vic wondered.

“But now the scene has changed,” Bono said. “In addition to mobsters and foreign spys, we have college protesters and racial unrest. These are crazy times.”

“Yes, but I think a lot of it has to do with the war.”

“The war is supported by most Americans. Don’t forget that. And our job is to support our government, no matter what our personal opinions are.”

“That has never been an issue with me.”

“Right. You have a daughter, don’t you?”

“Yes, Denise. A good kid, nothing like the young people we’ve been talking about. She has her head on straight: in her sophomore year down at Champaign-Urbana. She’s going to be an English teacher.”

Good Lord, Vic thought. It wasn’t enough that he had to present a professional, up-to-date image myself. Now his daughter and presumably his wife were going to have to pass muster as well. Vic gazed at the coffee cup on Bono’s desk and let his mind drift. His wife. What about his wife these days? For the last few months or so she had become distant, lashing out at him when he tried to talk with her, then retreating into their bedroom to read, preferably alone. Something was definitely wrong, but there was no time to think about that now. He had to sell the image, had to at least make it to retirement. “Yes, we’re just the typical American family you never hear about,” Vic said. He considered adding, “My wife just makes sure the life insurance policies are paid up,” but decided this was no time for bad jokes.

“That’s good, very good. You’re right, of course. Your daughter is the kind of kid we never hear about in the news. So tell me, have you had a chance to look over the case that was assigned to you yesterday? I asked Jim to pass it on to you with the memo.”

“Yes, I did.” Vic took a small notebook from his coat, opened it, and began reading: “Subject is Joshua Taylor. Black male, University of Illinois grad student, active in Students for a Democratic Society. Killed two days ago by a bullet wound to the head. No leads, no weapon. Nothing to go on at this point, other than Washington’s interest in a white girl that Taylor associated with named Billie Lee.” Vic looked up. “So do you think this may have had something to do with the Black Panthers?” he asked.

“We don’t know yet, but we are looking for any connection we can find. As you said, this Joshua Taylor was very active in SDS. But he was also black. So he may have had some involvement with the Panthers as well, which could work to our advantage.”

“How?”

“Well, if we can show that his murder resulted from differences between the Panthers and student radicals, it could be a big plus.”

“You mean, blame it on the Black Panthers?”

“If there’s something there; if we can find some sort of connection. We’ll just have to see what you can come up with.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can learn.”

“Fine, fine. You do that.”

That afternoon, Vic called his wife at work from a pay phone. “Hello, Cathy?”

“Hello, Vic. Is something wrong?”

“No, no emergency or anything. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever called me at work before.”

“Well, I was just wondering if you were going to be late this evening.”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. Things always seem to come up at the last minute. Why, is something going on this evening? Do you have something planned?”

“No. I’ve just had a bad day, that’s all. I wasn’t planning anything special. I thought maybe we could talk.”

“Oh, I see. What happened?”

“It’s just . . . this new guy I have to report to now. And it’s my new assignment, too. It’s like everything is changing. I don’t know if things are going to work out all that well.”

“You’re not thinking about quitting, are you? You have at least five years until you can retire. You’re going to make it, aren’t you?”

“I guess. It’s just that I feel like I’m getting caught up in something dirty, and this new guy isn’t anything like John used to be. I mean, I could talk to John. This new guy is ambitious and sounds like he wants to make a reputation for himself at other people’s expense, and—”

“Oh, hold on a second. Bob just handed me a note. Let me read it real quick here. Okay, I am going to have to stay late tonight. I’m sorry, but I just got this.”

“That’s okay. I’m getting used to it.”

“Well, it’s not like we were going to do anything, and this really is a good job.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll see you whenever.” Vic pulled down hard on the phone as he hung up.

That same day, Arthur stopped by the campus newspaper rack on his way out of the chemistry building and picked up a copy of the latest edition. But as he made his way toward the exit, his eye caught the headline on the front page, and he came to an abrupt halt. Splashed across the top was a picture to Joshua with a story reporting that he had been found dead in his apartment. Arthur couldn’t believe it. He went outside to the front steps of the building and sat down. What the hell was going on? Did this have anything to do with Joshua’s activism in SDS? The recent demonstration? Had the campus police finally gone completely insane? According to the article, the police had no idea who killed Joshua or why. But the whole thing seemed extremely fishy to Arthur, and before he knew it, he found himself at the campus police station demanding to see someone.

“We have a special investigator working on this case,” droned the uniformed police officer at the counter, sounding bored. “Mr. Ringham, FBI.”

“Why the FBI?”

“I think it has something to do with Joshua Taylor being from another state. The investigation is going to go beyond what we would normally do locally. Mr. Ringham will be here this afternoon. If you want to come back, I’m sure he’ll happy to see you. In the meantime, I can take your name and address.”

“Fine. I’ll be here.”

That afternoon, Arthur was ushered into a back office where Mr. Ringham, a thin man with short gray hair and wearing a gray flannel suit sat behind a desk. “Would you like something to drink?” Ringham asked. “We have coffee and water. I think there’s a Coke machine.”

“No, thanks. I came here because this whole thing sounds suspicious as hell to me. Why would anyone murder a grad student for no reason?”

“Suppose you tell me,” Ringham replied patiently. He leaned forward.

“I have no idea. I didn’t know Joshua, except for seeing him around the chemistry department. The only thing I can think of is, it may be related somehow to what happened last Friday.”

“What happened last Friday?”

“Joshua and I were at an antiwar demonstration in front of the administration building, and the campus police tried to break it up. When they did, Joshua yelled something at them, and then one of the cops came after him and tried to hit him with a club. The cop ended up chasing us across campus.”

“So you were participating in the demonstration as well?”

“Yes, I was. It’s not against the law, you know.”

“I know,” Ringham sighed. “And now you think the campus police killed him in retribution because he yelled something at one of them.”

“Blacks have been killed for less in this country. Joshua was from a poor background, probably ghetto. He was used to seeing police brutality.”

“Right. Of course, we are talking about the campus police at the University of Illinois.” Ringham let out another small sigh. “I hate to disillusion you, but I think you’ll find that the police here have an excellent record when it comes to handling student demonstrations. I think you’ll find that police brutality and murder are not exactly problems. Like everyone else these days, the University has had to put their people through rigorous training aimed at handling protesters.”

“Of course, you would say that.”

“Why?” said Ringham, raising his eyebrows. “You think I’m part of the department here? I’m not. I’m an investigator for the federal government, FBI. And my guess is, we’re more interested in finding out what happened to Mr. Taylor than you are. But the campus police are not on our list of suspects.”

“So you have a list of suspects?”

“We have some leads. By the way, do you know the whereabouts of a white girl named Billie Lee, blonde, about five-seven?”

“No, but I told you I didn’t know Joshua very well, or his friends either, for that matter. Could that have been the problem, though? Him dating a white girl?”

“I don’t think so, but I do believe you when you say you didn’t know Joshua Taylor very well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just so you know, Mr. Taylor did not come from a ghetto background. His father is a high school principal in St. Louis, and his mother is a history teacher there. Mr. Taylor was a high school track star and an honor student. As an undergraduate, he regularly made the dean’s list and participated in student government. He was middle class all the way.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t experience police brutality. And he was active in SDS.”

“I think your friend was having some fun with you.”

“So what happens now?”

“Let’s see,” Ringham said as he exhaled audibly. “We’ll proceed with the investigation, follow all the leads we can, and share the information with headquarters. They seem to have a real interest in this case, although I don’t know why.”

That night, feeling cold and clammy, Arthur took a long hot shower and smoked a joint before going to bed.